Tears of a Rose
by Aelia O'Hession
Summary: La Femme Musketeer. A glimpse at what happens after everything ended. Or does it? When Aria Murphy of Ireland shows up in Paris, a few things change for our dear Etienne.
1. My Beginning

**Tears of a Rose**

**By: Aelia O'Hession**

**Summary:** (La Femme Musketeer by Hallmark.) A ficlet about what happened after everything ended. Or does it? When Aria Murphy of Ireland shows up in Paris, a few things change for our dear Etienne.

**Chapter 1: My Beginning**

Lying in the hayloft, exhausted from a hard day's work just to earn the privilege to sleep here, my mind forces me to remember how I came to be here. Here would be the hayloft next to Planchet's Taverne, Paris, France. The memory of my escape still lingers in my mind as though it was yesterday. In truth, I have only been in Paris for a few months now. Everyone here still knows me as that 'foreign girl.' It's a bit depressing really. However, Planchet and his wife have been very kind to me in allowing me to work in their tavern. However, I feel as though I should relate the nature of my escape to you so that you may know why I am grateful to Mr. and Mrs. Planchet.

My life began in Ireland. That is, I was born and raised there, and am a citizen of that beautiful country. I grew up on a farm in County Cork. Despite the almost picturesque portrait that my family's farm would have made, things were much darker than they seemed. I was an only child, and my mother called me her little rose when I was young. When I was six, she died of a fever, leaving me alone with my drunken father.

Father was terribly abusive towards me after mother died. Daily I would receive a beating for who knows what. That was how my day started. I would receive more lashes depending on how much my father had drunk that day. Some would say that the scars on my back are impressive; I say horridly painful.

One day, when I had reached the point of no return, I decided that was enough. By some stroke of luck, I had managed to survive to my seventeenth birthday. Taking the money my mother had put aside for me and packing what little belongings I had, I took the family horse and fled. I raced over the hills of County Cork for many weeks before I reached Dublin. There, I bought myself passage on a ship headed to France. Anywhere was better than home. After a long journey by ship, I managed to land in Normandy, alive, but slightly seasick. Taking my belongings, and giving my horse to the kindly old gentleman who had called me his daughter to get me on the ship, I began to make my way towards Paris.

When I got there, I started to look for work. My quest led me here, Planchet's Taverne, unofficial headquarters of the King's Musketeers. Mrs. Planchet had hired me as a temporary serving girl for one night, but has kept me on ever since then. She claims that it's because I bring good service with my singing voice.

I have noticed that I have been remiss during my babbling that I have not mentioned my name. Allow me to fix that. My name is Aria Murphy, aged 18 years of age. My appearance is what I consider plain. Hip length auburn hair, blue eyes, typical milk white Irish skin; the standard Irish girl. My appearance is deceiving; many believe that I'm a timid little thing who shies away from a fight. I'm quite the opposite really. I love a good fist fight; I eve have a long dirk that I use in close combat. I've been trying to get some of the Musketeers to teach me how to wield a sword, but they just laugh me off.

"ARIA!! Get down here!"

That would be Mrs. Planchet. She must be opening the Tavern again. So much for a bit of sleep. Maybe I'll get some breakfast out of this.

"Planchet, what it the Missus squawking after now?" My Irish brogue colored my speech.

Planchet merely looks at me. Sighing, I follow him to the Tavern hall where a group of men are standing around, joking with the Missus.

"There you two are. I've been waiting. These hooligans won't leave me alone to make their food." Mrs. Planchet made a good natured swipe at one of the men who were standing near her.

As I walked closer, I realized that it was a group of what seemed to be fathers and their sons. However, there was one young woman amongst the group. She is dressed like the men, and a sword hangs at her side.

One of the men speaks up. "Planchet, when did this beauty appear?" Clearly he is referring to me, and it makes me feel quite uncomfortable.

"She arrived on our doorstep a few months ago. She's our resident serving girl." Planchet turns to look at me. "Aria, I'd like you to meet my dear friends. All of whom are Musketeers I might add. I am pleased to introduce D'Artagnan and his lovely daughter Valentine, Athos and his son Gaston, Porthos and his son Antoine, and Aramis and his son Etienne."

I gave a demure curtsey. "Pleased to meet you all. I am Aria Murphy of Ireland. Now if you'd excuse me, I'm being told to make your meal."

Hurriedly, I went back to the kitchen where Mrs. Planchet was waiting for me. "Sorry, Planchet insisted on introducing me to his friends." When she only smiled at me, I gave her a questioning look.

"Planchet and I have come to think of you as a daughter. We're both very proud of the work that you put in here." She blinked away the threatening tears.

This was a bit more than I expected. "Madame..."

Mrs. Planchet silenced me with her hand. "I won't have you making a fuss. Just finish up the meal and bring it out."

I did as I was told and brought the food out. On one shoulder I had the food tray balanced. On the other shoulder was a tray of ale mugs. The drinks were put down first so I wouldn't spill them all over the place. Then I put the food down. The men attacked the food like wolves. I turned to Valentine. "I've brought ale for the men, what would you like?"

Valentine flashed a warm smile at me. "Could I get a glass of milk?"

Antoine gaped at her. "Milk? What are you, a cow?"

In response, Valentine merely whacked Antoine on the side of his head.

I left before I could be pulled into the banter. I would rather be solitary than amongst strangers. On my way back to the kitchen, I passed Aramis and his son Etienne pouring over a piece of paper.

"Those are wonderful odds, Father."

"That they are my boy..."

Smiling to myself, I kept walking. After I had retrieved Valentine's milk and gave it to her, I left to get some breakfast of my own. I got as far as the back door before Mrs. Planchet caught me.

"Aria, where do you think you're going?"

"To eat my breakfast."

"Not alone you're not. Come; eat with the rest of us." Mrs. Planchet came over, took me by the elbow and brought me to the table. She sat me down between Etienne and Antoine. "Now, you will stay and be sociable."

The look on her face told me that I had no choice.

Planchet turned to D'Artagnan. "What brings you to Paris?"

D'Artagnan flashed a wide smile that was similar to his daughter's. "Why, the impending marriage of Valentine and Gaston! We're looking for a place to hold the wedding and a handmaiden for Valentine."

I sat listening to the conversation, feeling like a complete outsider. While all of them knew each other and understood certain jokes, I knew nothing. I congratulated Valentine and Gaston, but my adulation felt empty to me. Sighing into my tea, I quietly sat, observing everything around me. It occurred to me that they were a close knit family and I was intruding, despite what Mrs. Planchet said.

"Aria..."

I was forced to come out of my thoughts by someone calling my name. After blinking stupidly for a moment, I found the source of the voice to be D'Artagnan. "Aye, sir?'

"Would you like to share with us how you've come to live in Paris? I hear Ireland is quite lovely. Why did you leave?"

Suddenly, all of my defenses went up. I stiffed in my seat and my every action was guarded. My voice quavered as I answered, "I... don't wish to speak of it." Then, I bolted from my seat and out the front door.

"Aria, where are you going? Aria..?" I barely heard Planchet calling after me. All I could hear was my feet pounding the cobblestone street. Blindly I ran through the crowds of people doing their morning shopping in the market square. My mind rand with the memory of my father's drunken outrage. Salty tears poured down my face, blinding me further. Somehow, my feet led me to the old ruins outside of Paris.

Slumping over an old stone bench, I put my head in my arms and released all of my quelled anguish. I stayed that way for quite some time, allowing the sound of the birds calm me. Like my gentle mother, I had a deep fondness for nature. Presently, the sound of the approaching hooves reached my ears.

I looked up and saw Valentine. "Aria, could I speak with you?"

I drew myself up from the ground and gestured for her to join me on the bench.

"I've come to apologize for what my father said at breakfast. He didn't mean to be inconsiderate..."

"Valentine, hush. It's my fault for over-reacting. Your father was just the first person to ask me that since I've come here. As you probably realize, my reason for coming here is quite painful." Once I began to speak, there was no way to stop the flood of words that came. I would relate my tale once and for all. "To put it plainly, my father was a drunk and abusive towards me. My dear sweet mother had died when I was six years old, leaving me to live alone with the horrid beast. By my seventeenth birthday, I couldn't take anymore. I ran; and all of my running brought me here." I wiped away the tears that steamed down my cheeks.

Valentine sat beside me, eyes wide. "I had no idea..."

Her plain statement sparked my thoughts. "I don't mean to be rude, but you're an idealist, aren't you?" When she merely looked at me, I explained. "You've never seen the cruelty of a true common life, have you? You believe in the honor behind everything. Bless you for your innocence."

Valentine interrupted, "But you can speak like me..."

"The only reason why I know how to speak like you do is because my mother had educated me. She wanted me to have a better life." My tone became slightly wistful as I remembered my time with my mother.

Guiltily, Valentine smiled at me. "You're right. I really am like that. It bothers Gaston terribly sometimes. I suppose I get it from my father. He believes the same things that I do.

Suddenly, I got an idea. Not so much got, as unveiled a growing thought. I was unsure of why I decided to do this, but I needed to ask. "Valentine, I'd like to hire myself out as your servant. I know that planning a wedding requires female attention, and well, as much help as you can get. I have no doubt that your Musketeer friends are willing to help but..." I felt really awkward saying this, but I needed to do it. I could not stay with the Planchets forever.

I then found myself wrapped in her embrace. "Of course! I'd live to have you! And Gaston and I will be looking for land to build a home on; I'll need help to get a home running..."

I cut her off before she could go any further. "Valentine D'Artagnan, I would be honored to serve you." I allowed myself to smile. I felt confident that I was taking the right path towards remaking my life.


	2. Painful Things

**Chapter 2: Painful Things **

**A/N:** Since I forgot to do this in the first chapter.... I own nothing.... except Aria, she's mine to do with asI please. Everything else belongs to Hallmark Entertainment. So don't sue mebecause you won't getanything from it. I'm just a poor authoress who works for mimimum wage. Enjoythe fic.... as a few have told me that they do.

**2.2.2.2**

When Valentine and I returned to Planchet's, I noticed a somber air surrounded the normally cheery tavern. It was supper time, and the tavern lacked the usual excited crowd of Musketeers.

As Valentine unsaddled her horse, I escaped to my simple hayloft room. I enjoyed my little refuge; it was one of the few things that I could count on. It contained what little possessions that I had, along with a few cherished novels that Mrs. Planchet had given me. Freshening up, I joined Valentine below.

The movement of a shadow behind her caught my eye. It moved carefully, trying to avoid being caught. Something about the way it moved made me think that its target was not me, but Valentine. I decided to wit out the action. It may be cruel of me, but I was intrigued by this shadow.

The shadow's arms then wrapped around Valentine from behind. As she yelped in fright, a deep laugh issued from the hood of the figure. The figure lifted her up and twirled her about. The shadow's hood then swept down revealing,

"Gaston!" Valentine shrieked.

He gave her another twirl for good measure before placing a kiss on her lips. I stood of to the side, trying to blend into the woodwork. Much to my dismay, Valentine noticed.

"Aria, you're going to be with us much more now. You're going to need to be comfortable with everyone." She gave me a look that she must have inherited from her mother.

"Wait… what?" Gaston was clearly confused by his fiancée's statement.

Quietly I replied, "Mademoiselle D'Artagnan has hired me as a maidservant." A feeling of awkwardness soon came over me in the strangest way. Dipping a curtsey, I went into the tavern to help Mrs. Planchet. What conversation that passed between Valentine and Gaston I do not know.

Inside the tavern, I was surrounded by the familiar sight and sound of Musketeers clamoring for their supper. Happily I served; glad to occupy my mind with my task. When Valentine and Gaston entered again, they joined Etienne and Antoine at their table.

Off to the side, a few common city dwellers began an argument. "That was mine, and you stole it from me!"

"How dare you suggest such a thing," another man snapped.

I say it because you did it!" the first man retorted.

Their banter continued for some time, disturbing the people around them, myself included. Then, the first man decided to settle the dispute physically. The two men erupted in a fist fight, and soon their friends joined in.

"Aria, would you take care of that?" Planchet called.

I placed Etienne's supper before him before making my way to the brawl. I elbowed my way through the fighting crowd, oblivious to all around me. A few stray punches found my face, but I ignored them. My father's abuse had been far worse. I managed to get my hands on the filthy collars of the two men who had stared the fight. Dragging them behind me, I spoke a very clear warning over the hubbub of the tavern. My Irish brogue again colored my speech as it always did. "There be no fighting in this here tavern. Leave all disputes at the door, or don't bother coming in at all!" With that little piece simply spoken, I threw them out the front door and on to the city street. Then I turned to the others that had been fighting. "For your own stupidity for joining in, ye will be staying to clean up the mess you caused. Oh, and tell you fellows that they will be paying for the damages."

Mrs. Planchet saw the looks of disbelief that the men wore. "You will obey the good lass. Or deal with me."

I then returned to my duties as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I was pleased with my actions. As much as I hated to get myself involved in conflict, I would if absolutely necessary. No one would abuse me anymore; that had happened far too often in my childhood.

As I cleared Etienne's plate away, he took my arm. "I must say, even Valentine would never have done such a thing. How is it that, though you look so demure, you are able to face such things so fearlessly? You never stuck me a as a fighter."

I smiled at Etienne's kind words. Rarely did a man speak to me as though I was his equal. Even so, Etienne was a good four years older than I. "You are quite right; I am not a fighter by trade, but by necessity. I grew up surrounded by violence. I suppose it has made me unaware of certain things." I would have continued my conversation with him, but I was unable.

"Wench! Get me more wine!" a patron called at me.

"You've had your fill," I retorted.

"I demand more wine, wench! As such, it is your duty to serve me." The speaker paused for a moment then continued to speak in a string of condescending titles. "Slattern, slut, whore, harlot!"

He continued to call me such foul names. It seemed his entire vocabulary was based on those ill titles. It was so reminiscent of my father's verbal abuse that it left me frozen where I stood. Vaguely, I was aware of Etienne standing beside me.

"I suggest you shut your mouth, sir, before I shut it for you."

"Ha! A man defending his whore… how 'romantic'." The man's words dripped with disdain.

Before Etienne could charge the man, Gaston stood to speak. "You dare to slander my fiancée's maidservant?"

While this conversation happened, I stood, mortified. My mind was blank with fear. I had a terrible delusion that the man would suddenly turn into my father and rush at me to beat me. Not long after that thought, I turned around and fled out the back door. As I left, I could hear the sounds of a fight breaking out. I scurried up to my loft room, away from everything that irked me. Burying myself in my bed, I made a childish wish hoping that everything would just go away and leave me be. As my tears subsided, comforted by my little hope, I began to sing to myself, just to calm my nerves.

"The dark sky in her fertile phase

Lifts her veil so I can see her veins

Flowing across the night

She carries change all through the web of life

And weaves her beauty in my eyes

So they don't forget

Visions that she answered me with

And she'll come to me again

Between slumber and wake

After the dream…"

("Radical Seed" by Angelwing)

My heart stopped pounding and my blood ceased coursing violently through my veins. Rolling over on to my back, I let the visions clear from my eyes. The dark visions that my past had instilled in my mind were a disease that I could not seem to be rid of. Try as I might, they would not let up. I could only hope for the day that I would be free. After some time lost in deep thought, searching for an answer, I heard someone climbing the ladder to my left. Turning, I saw Etienne. "May I come up?" he asked.

Sitting up, I gestured for him to come sit by me.

"I just wanted to make sure that you're all right. That man had no right or reason to say what he did." He paused for a moment, probably trying to figure out what to say next. Concern was clearly written on his face, and I was touched by it.

"I'm all right. I just fall apart when someone starts talking to me like that. It's my father's fault really." Etienne looked at me, surprised by what I was saying. Instead of shutting up like I would have normally done, I kept going, feeling comfortable saying this to him. "This all has to do with why I ran out this morning. My mother died when I was six, leaving me with my drunken and abusive father. He used to beat me constantly and abuse me verbally, much like what you just heard. Hearing things like that always makes me freeze up; my mind thinks that he's come back for me." I gave a shuddering sob, and Etienne pulled me into an embrace.

"You've got nothing to worry about now. Valentine, Gaston, Antoine and I will be here to take care of you. You're one of us now… we all take care of each other." He smoothed a lock of my auburn hair away from my face. He held my blue eyes with his brown ones. "I'm always here if you need someone to talk to." The sincerity of his voice was almost overwhelming. "Valentine's wonderful to talk to, but she's got her wedding plans to deal with." His statement made me laugh a little. "There you go. What do you say to a nice warm cup of cocoa?" When my face lit up he laughed. "I'll take that as a yes. Come on, it's on me."

With that, he led me out of my sanctuary and down the street to a little bakery. By the end of the night, I was feeling much better and I also knew that I had found a valuable friend in Etienne. Besides, we made a good gambling pair. At least, that's what Planchet told me.

**A/N:** Just another little note... please review.... it makes me feel better. Thnaks a lot!


	3. Service

**Chapter 3: Service **

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay. I've encountered a little bit of writers block.I know that's not a good excuse, but I'll use it for now.

To my reviewers: Dagon nq Likha, Sweet A.K., and Nikkd03. Thank you for your wonderful reviews. It's nice to know someone appreciates the random stuff.

3.3.3.3

Over the next few days, I began to finish up my work at the tavern. It was saddening to know that I may never work at the tavern again. This place means so much to me; I began my new life here. Now, every meager possession that I own is being moved into an apartment that D'Artagnan is renting for his daughter's wedding. In actuality, everything that I own fits nicely inside a small traveling bag.

"Aria, are you ready?" Valentine called up to me as I was finishing my packing.

"Be down in a moment!" I called. Giving a last look around the loft that I had lived in for the past few months, I took a deep breath. I wanted to imprint this place in my memory for all time so that I may remember it long into the future. I knew for certain now that a new chapter of my life was about to begin.

When I joined everyone inside the tavern, Mr. and Mrs. Planchet swept me into a tight hug. Shamelessly, tears poured from their eyes and mine.

"You'll always be welcome here," Planchet said to me.

Madame Planchet wiped away the tears that flowed down her face. "I feel as though I'm losing a daughter." She pulled me into another hug. Quietly she said, "Remember, you know how to work hard. Never give in to anything cruel. Be good to Valentine, she needs it. Don't be afraid – stay true to who you are."

I smiled at Madame Planchet's sound advice. She had a way of speaking the truth, and I loved her for it. She held nothing back. Finally released from her possessive hug, I turned to face my awaiting new family.

D'Artagnan looked at me. We both knew what had to follow next. "Aria Murphy of Ireland, do you willingly accept what you are about to partake?"

I found this unusual. Normally servants weren't given this choice to declare their willingness. But, I answered in the affirmative and saved D'Artagnan the rest of the speech. "I, Aria Murphy of Ireland, do willingly accept what is before me. I will serve faithfully until my mistress, Valentine D'Artagnan, sees fit to dismiss me from her service. This I do solemnly swear. As I will, so mote it be." I decided to put the traditional Irish closing on the speech.

Everyone was staring at me. Instead of answering their stares, I pulled the hood of my cloak and walked out into the rain. As the rain fell on me, I was relieved. I simply stood there with my bag waiting. Etienne came out first and joined me where I stood in the rain. Neither of us said anything-we just waited. Finally everyone else came out and we made our way to the apartment.

3.3.3.3

When I saw the townhouse, a thousand thoughts and feelings were experienced. The building was beautiful, but the actual apartment was quite bare. It was quaint, reminding me of the simple little cottage that I had lived in before I left home.

"Ah, our 'new' home," D'Artagnan said proudly. "Well, at least for the moment."

The thing about men is that they do not understand certain things about homes. The men that I was with were completely unaware of the fact that the apartment was completely empty and the place was filthy. Normally, Valentine would have noticed something, but she was too wrapped up in Gaston. I began to settle into servant mode. Putting my things by the kitchen hearth, I looked around.

"First things first," everyone turned their attention to me. "We must make this a home, not a hovel. D'Artagnan, will your wife be joining us soon?"

"Yes, she will. In a week I believe." D'Artagnan stood, puzzling at me.

"Then, rooming will work as such; Valentine and her mother will occupy a room, Etienne, Gaston, and Antoine another, and Aramis, Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan in another. Now, go put your things away where they belong."

Etienne shook his head at me. "You sound like my mother." I moved towards him. "All right! I'm going!" He then retreated away with Gaston and Antoine.

I looked at their fathers. "That goes for you as well." Once they left, it allowed me to get to what I needed to do.

Walking back to the kitchen, I took a deep breath. I then began to look for a bucket. I found one in the corner. I found one in the corner. Getting some water from the well outside, I came back in. Then, I took a scrub brush, got on my hands and knees, and began to scrub the floor.

"What are you doing," Valentine asked.

"What ye hired me to do. Ye can help if you like." She looked at me strangely. "Ye mean to tell me that you've never scrubbed a floor? And you're about to get married? Then allow me to teach ye the ways of running a household." By the time the men emerged from their rooms, we were done with the kitchen and dining room, and we were working on the sitting room.

"Apparently they've been busy," Aramis remarked.

"What's for supper?" Porthos demanded.

I sat back on my heels and looked at Porthos. He is dear man, just a little occupied at getting his next meal in. Quite seriously I respond, "If you want supper, go on to the kitchen and make it." Then, I returned to my floor scrubbing.

"But there's nothing in the pantry!" he squalled.

I did not even bother to look up. "There's a market near by. Go buy some things for supper then. I have a floor to scrub, if ye don't terribly mind."

Porthos sputtered in reply. I go the feeling this was a new concept for him. Finally Antoine broke in. "Father, lend me some money and Etienne and I will find something for supper." Porthos did not move. I know he is upset at me for my display of non-subordinate actions, but I am a rather headstrong lass. Besides, he is not my master.

Aramis calmed his seething friend. Handing Etienne some money, he said, "Go get some food for that bare bones pantry. Leave Aria to her work. Porthos, come with me for a walk in the gardens."

While Aramis and Porthos were gone, Valentine and I managed to finish scrubbing the entire townhouse down. When Etienne and Antoine retuned form their trip to the market, I began to work on supper. I felt a nice hearty stew was in order to chase away the chill of the rain. Perhaps some bread, salad and a pie for dessert.

While I was working, D'Artagnan came over to review my work. He asked why I had done what I did in front of Porthos. My response was simple. "A grown man is capable of feeding himself."

For the next few days while I made the townhouse livable, Porthos and I had a few rows. But after a time, we came to understand each other. He soon realized that I was acting in a way appropriate to my culture. Even Valentine came to understand that I was taught to work for a living, not gallivant around.

The day that Madame D'Artagnan came was a disaster. All of my hard work was lost due to the men folk. Allow me to explain.

3.3.3.3.

"Aria, my mother is arriving today. Make sure everything's ready, please?"

Valentine pleaded with me to allow her to go train with the others. She really should be here, but I gave in, knowing that I could get a fair amount of work done alone.

While they were gone, I cleaned from top bottom and arranged the room that she would share with her daughter. Valentine is so messy with her things! Etienne is neater than she!

At around three in the afternoon she arrived.

"Hello, is anyone here?"

There was Cecile D'Artagnan, arms loaded with her luggage.

"Madame D'Artagnan?" I inquired.

She looked at me with a steady gaze. "I am. And you are?"

"Aria Murphy; maidservant to Valentine D'Artagnan." I dipped a curtsey and hurried forward. "Allow me to take your things." I gathered Madame's things in my own arms and easily carried it away.

"Where is everyone?"

I was slightly surprised that she did not know. "Musketeer training, Madame. They should be home by supper." I left Madame to amuse herself while I checked on the supper. I had a roast on with fresh bread and vegetables.

The next thing I hear is Madame D'Artagnan shrieking. Rushing out of the kitchen and into the sitting room I see the mud covered figures of Etienne, Antoine, Gaston, Valentine, D'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos and Aramis. They are tracking mud everywhere. Do they know how long it is going to take me to clean this up? The moment they saw me with the spoon in my hand, they attacked the kitchen.

"Don't ye dare!" I hollered in Gaelic.

I was too late. They had consumed what was supposed to be supper. I was furious. Seething, I glare at each and every one of them. "So this is how the King's Musketeers conduct themselves? I am ashamed of you." I then proceed to berate them in Gaelic for quite some time. Finally I come to a decision. Steadily in a language they would understand I say, "Get out of here. Go back to the barracks where you belong." I open the door and stand there. "OUT!"

Dejected, the Musketeers troop out., leaving me with a shocked Madame D'Artagnan. The mess they left is indescribable. Food, pots, and cutlery are everywhere. Turning to the Madame, I say, "I am so sorry. Everything has been ruined." I hang my head in shame.

She merely smiles at me. "You did wonderfully. I would have done the same exact thing to them if they had done this to me. Someone needs to teach them how to behave. Now, let me help you clean this mess up."

I am grateful for her help. With the two of us the mess is cleaned so that the kitchen gleams once more. Our renegade Musketeers did not return until supper the next night. There is going to be a price to pay for them.


	4. Lessons and Preparations

Chapter 4: Lessons and Preparations

**Chapter 4: Lessons and Preparations**

The day after the supper fiasco was rather quiet. After I had banished them the previous night, the Musketeers had not bothered to return to the townhouse. However, this is not to say that I had an easy day. Quite the opposite is true. Madame Cecile D'Artagnan tested every scrap of knowledge that I had.

My first test was the marketplace. She had me go to every single food vendor's stall to select items for the now demolished pantry. I tested vegetables to her approval, I spent an hour at the bakery searching for fresh milled flour. At the fish vendor's stall, she made me look every fish in the eye to see if they were still fresh.

As I examined one fish she questioned me. "What is the sign that a fish is not freshly caught?"

"Cloudy eyes."

Madame D'Artagnan gave a satisfied smile. "You were taught well." She took my by the elbow and guided me through the busy marketplace. Around every bend there were merchants calling out there wares. On this bright morning, it was a splendid sight to behold. When we turned down a fancier street, Madame D'Artagnan turned to me and said, "There is another small matter that we must take care of."

I dared not question her. With a final tug on my elbow, she brought me into a dressmaker's shop.

"Shouldn't Valentine be here?"

Madame D'Artagnan gave me a warm smile. "We're not here for her." She looked me up and down. "It's about time you got some new clothes. The single chemise, skirt and bodice you have won't last you much longer." She walked around me in a circle. "You need a good pair of shoes as well."

I was handed over to the dressmaker to be fussed over. But I knew my limits. I am a working girl after all. I made the simple request that all of my clothing be serviceable. The elderly dressmaker merely smiled at me.

"Everything will be ready by the end of the week," she said to Cecile.

"Wonderful." With that, out we went and headed back to the townhouse.

I do not enjoy being alone with Madame D'Artagnan. She is kindly enough, but I sense that she can be as hard as any noblewoman if given the chance. There are times when I feel as though I am not measuring up to her expectations. The thought did not comfort me in the least. Needless to say, I was rather relieved when the Musketeers returned home.

They walked in most dejectedly, carefully scraping the mud from their boots. Weapons were carefully laid aside on the entry table, a sign that they were willing to accept whatever punishment awaited them. Looking at the gloom in their faces made me laugh.

"I was beginning to think ye had forgotten where home was."

The puzzled looks they gave me were most gratifying. They sputtered things about terrible rage and other such nonsense.

Etienne finally managed to get a whole sentence together. "So, you're not going to chase us about with a fry pan?"

"Of course not." I wiped my dishpan hands on my apron.

"We're not being punished?" Gaston said hopefully.

"Ye are going to be punished, but after we have a small chat. It was terribly inconsiderate of the lot of you to come barging in and attacking the supper table like ye did. Ye behaved like a band of brigands who had no proper upbringing. Ye were all taught better. All I ask is that ye use the good manners that were taught to ye. Your punishment is simple." I pause for a moment, taking careful time to review each and every face that is before me. "Ye are making the supper tonight. So I suggest that ye clean up and get to it. Madame D'Artagnan expects supper to be served promptly at seven."

All hung heads shamefully. "That was worse than being hollered at," Antoine muttered.

"Then I made my point. Off ye go now." Gently I shooed them off to wash up. I smiled at their retreating backs. They really are a wonderful bunch; they just tend to forget that they can not behave as farm children.

I followed them into the kitchen. All eyes turned to Valentine. "Where do we start?" Porthos asked.

"How am I supposed to know?" Valentine sputtered.

"You _are_ a girl," Antoine observed. "You should have an idea of how this works."

"But I've never…"

"Wonderful, a woman who doesn't know how to cook," Athos whined. "Gaston, are you sure you want to marry her?"

I watched the entire exchange from my little alcove. I hid a giggle behind the book I was trying to read. It was a thick tome about philosophy of which I understood little. Finally, as I struggled with Plato, the Musketeers struggled with putting a meal together. Sitting on my pallet in the alcove, I watched them over the top of my book as they made a right mess of the kitchen.

The scene they made was most comical. The 'Famous Musketeers' floundered about the kitchen like fish out of water. Porthos insisted in testing the 'quality' of everything they made. In actuality, all he did was eat. Gaston was useless; the man could barely boil water! D'Artagnan and the rest had a rough idea of what was supposed to happen.

"Etienne, get those vegetables in the pot," Aramis hollered over the hubbub. "Athos, turn that roast!" It seemed to me that Aramis had taken over as lead in this little escapade. Orders were flung about and mayhem ensued. I was left to sit in fits of laughter in my alcove.

My greatest moment of joy came when Antoine was given the task of taking the pie out of the oven. Foolishly, he reached in without using any sort of means to protect his hands from the hot pan. Antoine reached in, pulled it out, then yelped in pain as the pan scalded his hands. The poor blueberry pie flew from his hands, sailing across the kitchen, only to land right on Etienne's head. I fell over, howling with laughter. The look of sheer bewilderment on Etienne's face was too precious.

"Oh Etienne," I stood up and dunked a cloth in the water basin. I ran my finger along his cheek to catch some of the dripping pie filling. "Though, I must say you look rather dashing in blueberry pie."

He graced me with a roguish grin. The next thing I knew, Etienne's pie covered hand was smearing blueberry on my face. "It becomes you; it matches your eyes."

"Shut up you two," Gaston snapped.

I grinned at Etienne as I grabbed a handful of the pie then flung it at Gaston. "Have a little fun Gaston."

"Enough you little hooligans!" Porthos bellowed. "We've nearly finished our poor excuse of a meal!"

When everything calmed down, supper was presented promptly at seven o'clock that evening before Madame D'Artagnan. It was an interesting meal to say the least. A good portion of it was inedible, and what could be eaten was not nearly enough for all of us. But, the Musketeers did come to understand why they should never again destroy any meal that I had taken the time to prepare – it would vastly surpass anything that they could scrounge up.

The next few days passed as a blur before my eyes. I saw little of the Musketeers themselves but spent a great deal of time with Valentine and her mother. I was a dutiful maidservant in the days that passed. I did my work with little fuss and did not take any personal time to explore Paris with Etienne. I would have dearly loved to get out to one of the pubs for a little gambling, but I knew that if Cecile ever found out, I would be immediately dismissed from service.

Preparations for the wedding were going smoothly. With the good graces of King Louis and Queen Maria Theresa, the D'Artagnan's were able to have the wedding ceremony in one of the premier cathedrals in Paris – Notre Dame. The grand scale of the wedding was such that every last detail had to be carefully planned and thought out so that the ceremony could go off without a hitch


	5. Personal Day

A/N: I know that it's been forever since I've updated this story

**A/N: **I know that it's been forever since I've updated this story. As such, you will notice a distinct change between this chapter and the ones previous. My writing style has changed since I began this story. I'm too lazy to go back and edit the previous chapters, so just deal. Also, since this is only supposed to be a ficlet, there aren't many more chapters left. Possibly three more, tops.

**Chapter 5: Personal Day**

With nothing but wedding preparations to occupy my mind, I began to develop perhaps one of the worst headaches ever known. Between Valentine and Madame D'Artagnan, all I ever heard was "wedding this and wedding that." My nights found me curled up in my little alcove in the kitchen, exhausted from my day and trying to catch some sleep. I know my duty, however, and go about my tasks diligently and without fuss.

"Aria."

"Yes, Madame?"

"I received a message from the dressmaker. Our order has been completed. We leave momentarily."

"Yes, Madame." Quickly I splash some water on my face in an attempt to remove what dirt I can. Beauty has never been a concern of mine. I am a member of the great unwashed, working for a living. A dirty face is hardly unusual. Grabbing my market basket, I hurry behind Madame D'Artagnan to the dressmakers.

At the dressmakers, I am presented with a pile of freshly laundered garments. "The colors have been selected to compliment your coloring," the dressmaker informs me stiffly.

"Dress in a new garment so that we can burn those filthy rags," Madame commands briskly. Handing me a box she adds, "These are your new shoes as well."

I am ushered into a small stall covered with a curtain. Placing the pile of garments on the roughly hewn bench, I look through them, shocked at what I find. There are skirts and bodices of greens and blues and burgundy, all made of fine material; finer than I have ever owned. In the pile are new undergarments, aprons, and headcaps; everything a proper maidservant should have. I select a crisp white chemise, over which I don a moss green skirt paired with a bodice in a matching green adorned with an ivy pattern in copper. Opening the shoebox, I find that the good quality extends to the shoes as well. They are new leather ankle boots, quite serviceable for a maidservant. I slip them on over my new stockings. I feel like a new woman. Carefully, I fold up the other garments and place them in my basket.

When I emerge from the dressing stall, Madame D'Artagnan gives me a rare smile. "You look much better, my dear. Much more of a proper looking maidservant for a Musketeer family. Come; let us get home so you can put those new clothes in your chest."

"Chest, Madame?"

Again, a smile. "My husband found a small chest that should fit your new belongings quite nicely."

"Your family is too kind. I…"

She silences me with a wave of her hand. "I shall hear nothing on the matter." Picking up a bundle of her own, she turns on her heel and exits the shop. I curtsey my thanks to the dressmaker before scurrying after Madame.

Later that day, after ironing all of the linen in Valentine's dowry chest, I find myself with a free evening. The D'Artagnan's are attending a dinner at an acquaintance's home, and the boys were still at the barracks. Settling into my alcove, I ponder what I shall do with myself.

The sound of boots coming through the front door of the apartment tells me that my quiet night might not be so quiet. Peering down the hall, I see a lone figure. When the figure steps into the light of the kitchen, I recognize the silhouette.

"Etienne?"

"Aria!" he exclaims, with a hint of joy in his voice. "Someone is home! I had feared that my evening would be dreadfully lonely."

"Where are the others?"

He removes his boots and cloak and hangs them on a hook by the fire. "Probably getting roaring drunk at the barracks. Tonight is Gaston's last night as a free man. I would assume that they are mourning."

Handing him a mug of warm tea, I ask, "Wouldn't ye want to be celebrating with him?" I was curious to see why Etienne would not desire to spend time with one of his closest friends.

"Gaston is a dear friend, but…I find myself in no mood to participate in their revelry. He can be a bit of a mean drunk." He stares into his mug before looking back up at me. He looks me up and down quizzically before asking, "New dress?"

I nod. "Madame had this and others made for me. The D'Artagnan's have been most generous with supplying me with a completely new wardrobe. That chest ye are sitting on is also a gift."

Etienne nods in agreement. "The D'Artagnan's are most generous. It looks good on you." A roguish glint then enters his eye. "You're off for the evening, right? What do you say about taking a ride with me?"

I look at him with hesitation. "Ride where?"

He shrugs. "Anywhere."

I consider the offer only briefly before agreeing. As Etienne disappears to change out of his training clothes, I run a comb quickly though my hair before pulling my boots on. Grabbing a new cloak, I make my way down to the stable behind the apartment. When he meets up with me, I raise an eyebrow at him. "Green?"

He looks down at his tunic. "A gentleman always strives to match the attire of his lady." A grin breaks across his face. "Actually, it was the only clean one."

I snort in amusement and playfully smack his arm. "Well, if ye gave me the laundry, ye would have more clean clothes."

Still smiling at me, he mounts his horse and pulls me up to ride pillion behind him. "Hold on," is my only warning before he urges the horse into a gallop. We fly through the streets of Paris, passing those who have the luxury of a night filled with entertainment. As the cool night air brushes our faces, we ride out of the city and into the vast countryside.

The horse gallops across the open fields, seemingly relieved to be out where it can stretch its legs. I cling to Etienne's back, trying to stay on the rapidly moving animal. In front of me, Etienne laughs freely in delight.

After a time, we come upon a small village decorated in colorful ribbons and flowers.

"Monsieur, what is the occasion?" Etienne asks of a passing man, clutching a tankard of ale.

"A wedding, good sir. Come, join our bounty!"

Following the man, we come upon the village square where the festivities are taking place. The whole village is gathered, enjoying the revels.

"Who is the wedding for?" Etienne asks our guide.

"For Collette, the daughter of the cooper, and Tomas, the son of the head huntsman." Before we can ask for any more information, the man wanders off, likely in search of replenishment of his tankard.

By the tavern, Etienne ties the horse up to a hitching post and helps me dismount. He tucks our cloak into the saddlebag, since the night is of an agreeable temperature. Immediately, we are swept up into a rollicking country dance. As a pair we swing to and fro and around in circles. To keep myself from becoming dizzy when we dance the circle, I focus on Etienne's laughing face. The joviality of the occasion reminds me greatly of the country weddings of Ireland.

Removing ourselves from the dancing, we collapse onto a nearby bench. Unseen hands press cups of wine into our hands to parch our thirst. It is a heady, sweet wine and it brings a blossom of warmth to my cheeks.

"I doubt that Valentine and Gaston's wedding will be this vibrant," Etienne remarks in my ear.

"Ye forget Porthos will be in attendance," I counter with a giggle. I am uncertain if the giggle comes from too much wine or the proximity to Etienne.

Etienne looks at me from the corner of his eye. "Aye, Uncle Porthos is not known for his quiet demeanor." Putting down his cup, he seizes me hand. "Come, they're playing a good tune."

I am dragged out into the throng of dancing people. On the next recognizable downbeat, he pulls me into the dance. Our feet fly through the dance patterns and my skirt swirls about my ankles. Though Etienne is my partner, I can see many of the unpartnered men eyeing me. It is an unusual feeling for me to be looked at like that. Etienne seems to notice my discomfort, so as we enter the next partner section, he holds me closer than propriety allows for friends.

We pass the night in a fantastic swirl of color and music. No one moment stands out; for all moments were equally enjoyable. It is perhaps the best night I have had since coming to France. As the moon rides higher in the night sky, our energy begins to droop, despite copious bolstering from wine and ale. Much too exhausted to ride back to Paris this late at night, Etienne convinces the tavern keeper to rent out a bed for the night.

Inside the small room, Etienne and I unwind from the wedding.

"You realize we have to do another wedding tomorrow…" He trails off, unwilling to finish the sentence.

Sighing, I sink into the bed. "Aye, I know. It will be a hundred times stuffier because we must observe proper protocol as it relates to our social status." I kick off my boots and unfasten my bodice. Once free of the confining contraption, I fling it aside and stretch my back. My skirt quickly joins my bodice and boots, until I am only in my chemise.

"Bah, social etiquette," Etienne scoffs as he removes his tunic, boots, and breeches. His clothes join the pile of my own. He sits across from me on the bed. "I shall dance with whomever I choose tomorrow." He winks at me.

Stifling a yawn with one hand, I smack his shoulder with my other. "I shall worry about the wedding once I've had a proper night's sleep. We'll need to hurry tomorrow morning if we wish to avoid the wrath of the wedding party."

"Aye. Sleep it is then. Shall I take the floor?"

"There be no need. The bed is large enough for the two of us." I settle in under the blanket and motion for Etienne to join me. "Or am I that terrible of company?"

Glaring at me, he crawls into the other side of the bed. "If you snore I'll smother you with your pillow."

"Same goes for you." Blowing out the candle, I settle into the bed, trying to find a comfortable position on the lumpy mattress. After a while, I settle down, lulled by Etienne's gentle breathing. Alas, there will be no need to smother him in the middle of the night.


	6. Wedding Day

**Chapter 6: The Wedding**

My eyes flutter open the next morning as the first rays of sunlight slip through the window. As I move to rise, I discover that my waist is trapped by Etienne's arm. I blush slightly as I recall that I had slept the whole night curled safely in that arm. Gently, I remove myself and move to the washbasin. I scrub my hands and face before trying to wake Etienne.

"Etienne," I shake his shoulder. "Time to wake."

He groans and rolls over.

Shaking a little harder, I try again. "Etienne, wake up!"

Again, a groan.

Deciding to take more drastic measures, I splash some water on his face.

Sputtering, he sits up and rubs his face. "What was that for?"

"We need to get home. If you remember, Valentine and Gaston are supposed to be getting married today. Madame D'Artagnan will have our heads if she finds us missing."

The threat of Madame's wrath seems to be enough to spur him into action. He leaps from the bed and trips over the bed linens. After suppressing a giggle at his blunder, there is a flurry of fabric as we dress. Minutes later, we are enjoying a quick breakfast before beginning our ride back to Paris.

"We need to hurry before they discover our disappearance," Etienne says while mounting his horse.

I merely nod my head in agreement. It seems silly to point out that I have been reiterating this since we woke up. I grab his arm so that I can pull myself up onto the saddle behind him. We leave the village at a breakneck pace, trying to fly back to Paris. I lean against Etienne's back, clinging to the memories of last night.

Our ride back seems almost too short. Dawn is just beginning break, and Paris still sleeps. The click of the horse's hooves echoes throughout the empty streets.

"Etienne," I call over the clatter of hoof-beats. "What are the odds that we'll make it home in time?"

"I bet you a dance at the wedding feast that we're not caught."

As we enter the stable yard, it seems that our luck is holding and that Etienne wins the bet and the dance.

"Aria," Etienne turns to face me after removing his horse's tack. "Thank you for an enjoyable night."

I smile at him. "Thank ye for bringing me along."

Before I can turn away, Etienne cups my face with a hand. In the briefest of moments later, his lips have captured mine. Surprised, I am momentarily frozen. Quickly, I regain my senses and respond to his kiss. His other arm curls around my waist, pulling me closer. As we stand in the stable, the sense of safety I have always associated with Etienne increases. Then, the hourly bell chimes, making us jump apart.

We slip though the gate to the sable, and put the horse back in his stall. Etienne removes the tack while I search for a bucket of water and a brush. We do a quick rubdown of the horse, always checking over our shoulders to see if we are caught. Just as we are walking across the courtyard to the main building, a sound by the gate makes us stop dead in our tacks. Our heads swivel from side to side, trying to locate the source of the sound. It occurs again, this time slightly louder. Etienne carefully moves me behind him as he inclines his head towards the noise. On careful feet, we move forward.

A lump of cloth is huddled by the gate, and a groan emits from it. With careful prodding from Etienne's booted foot, a fold of cloth falls to reveal a face.

"Gaston!" I exclaim in surprise.

His head lifts, and he peers at me through foggy eyes. "Aria?" he slurs.

"Good God, man!" Etienne cries. "Are you still drunk?"

Gaston mumbles a few unintelligible words accented by the wave of his hand, still clutching a tankard half full of ale.

"Dunk him in the horse trough a few times," I whisper to Etienne. "I'll go make him some breakfast. He just needs to be sober enough to get through the wedding ceremony. Then he can drink all he wants at the reception."

Etienne nods in agreement. Roughly, he hauls his friend to his feet and drags him off to the stables. As I open the kitchen door, I can hear the faint splashing sounds of Gaston's head being dunked. I quickly scuttle about the kitchen, warming the hearth and seeing what is available for breakfast.

Just as I am finishing a hearty breakfast, Etienne walks into the kitchen with a disheveled Gaston. Etienne perches his friend on a stool by the fire as I press a bowl of porridge into his hands.

"Eat, Gaston. Ye need to be well for the wedding in a few hours." Etienne walks him away to their rooms, leaving me to my business in the kitchen. Hurriedly, I remove the green bodice and skirt and instead throw on a simple grey dress and apron over my chemise.

"Ah, good."

I whirl about at the voice. Madame Cecile is standing in the kitchen doorway, watching me.

"How soon will breakfast be ready?"

I glace across the food I am preparing. "Tis nearly done, Madame."

Madame nods in approval. "Valentine and I will take our breakfast in our room. You can serve the men at the dining table."

Breakfast passes with little fuss. The men and I enjoy our breakfast at the table, sharing simple early morning chatter. They tell me all about Gaston's bachelor party. Etienne and I share a look, glad that we missed those shenanigans. The moment breakfast ends, however, the apartment erupts into a flurry of preparations. Down the hall, the men are trying to dress themselves in their best clothing. In the women's quarters, Valentine and her mother are fussing over the wedding dress and hairstyle. I am left to scurry between the two rooms of chaos, helping where I can.

Thankfully, all of the items needed for the wedding feast have already been sent over to the palace. There, the palace servants would set up the feast. It would be one less thing for me to worry about. In truth, I am a little nervous about being at the palace and in close proximity to the King and Queen. Commoners like me do not associate with nobility of any sort.

Ducking into the kitchen for a brief moment of sanity, I try to catch my breath. Gulping down a glass of cool cider, I lean against the counter. I begin to wonder if I will ever get a chance to get ready.

"By God, I don't know how much more of this I can take!"

I look up to see Etienne standing in the doorway, looking adorably flustered. "A bit overwhelmed?"

"Gaston and Athos are having a screaming match over God knows what. Porthos is fussing over his clothing, and my father won't stop praying – something he hasn't done in earnest for quite some time. Antoine is the only one resembling calm in there."

I press a mug of cider into his hands. "Tis only for a day." I look at his crisp Musketeer uniform. "Ye look quite dashing in uniform," I quip with a sly smile.

He does not get a chance to say anything as his father hollers his name from down the hall. Rolling his eyes, he dashes off to see what crisis is developing now.

With all of the insanity of trying to get everyone ready for the wedding, I found that I had no time to dress myself. Before Madame and Valentine could have meltdowns because of it, I settled them into the wedding carriage saying that I would meet them at Notre Dame. Both women look at me skeptically, but I assure them that I will be there in plenty of time.

Once the carriage has moved away from the apartment on its way to Notre Dame, I scurry into the kitchen. Stripping all of my clothes from my body, I climb into the bath that I had made for Valentine. Vigorously, I scrub my skin and hair, trying to remove every speck of dirt. My pale skin becomes red with the effort of scrubbing, but when I get out of the tub and dry off, my skin gleams like polished marble. After a comb is dragged through my long auburn hair, it falls in soft waves. I pull the top portion back into an elegant twist which I secure with a silver comb Valentine gave me for the occasion.

From my new chest, I removed the gown that Madame had made for me. When she had presented it to me earlier in the week, I had veiled my dislike of the dress. The colors and fabric were splendid, but she had insisted that it be made in the hideous style that is currently popular amongst the noble women. The sleeves were poufy and the skirt was so full it required a hoop skirt. Late at night, when everyone else was asleep, I had put myself to the task of altering the dress. I am quite pleased with what I was able to create. Now, the skirt falls in a gentle flow from my hips, and the bodice clings to my torso. The neckline now sweeps off my shoulders, and my sleeves are tight to the elbow before falling in a point. The whole dress is made of a pale blue silk, trimmed and embroidered with silver.

Dressing, and adding the delicate matching silver shoes, I toss a plain dark woolen cloak over my dress to protect it while I walk to Notre Dame. I pull the hood over my head to hide my evident opulence. I am not used to being dressed in such finery. As fast as I can, I make my way towards the great cathedral of Notre Dame. As I approach, there are hundreds of people swarming around the cathedral steps, wanting to catch a glimpse of the royal pair, Louis and Maria Theresa. Pushing through the crowd, I slip into the side entrance of the cathedral.

Inside, the invited guests are milling about, making polite conversation. The King and Queen graciously circulate about the room, making sure that everyone in attendance has a chance to speak to them. I practically run to the bridal chamber, not wanting to spend too much time among the assembled nobles.

"Aria!"

Valentine sees me and cries out my name in panic. Rushing to her side, I immediately ask what is wrong.

"There are too many people! I don't think I can do this!"

Out in the cathedral, the trumpets sound, signaling the beginning of the wedding. Pushing her to her father's side, I say to her, "Well, now ye have to."

Etienne and Antoine begin the procession, looking dashing in their Musketeer uniforms. Behind them is Cecile D'Artagnan, already sobbing. As they take their places, all heads turn to see Valentine and her father process down the aisle. Valentine visibly shakes with a mixture of fear and anticipation, but under the guidance of her father's hand, she makes her way down the aisle to the waiting Gaston.

The ceremony is beautiful in its simplicity. Valentine and Gaston glow; their love for each other evident in their smiles. Throughout the ceremony, I stand to the side overwhelmed by the beauty and grandeur of the Notre Dame cathedral. Every so often, I would remember to shut my gaping mouth and pay attention to the people who are supposed to be the center of attention today.

Once the ceremony ends, we all stream out of the cathedral to waiting carriages. We press through the crowd of Parisian citizens who have come to catch a glimpse of the royal pair. Valentine and Gaston are safely tucked into a carriage behind that of the King and Queen. With a cry, the coachman urges the horses forward, cutting though the crowd.

The crowd is overwhelming. I stand rooted to one spot, twisting in all directions trying to figure out where I am supposed to be.

"Aria!"

I whirl around to see who has called my name. To my left, Etienne is pushing his way through the crowd. Some people move aside slightly when they catch a glimpse of his Musketeer uniform.

"Aria, come with me." He grabs my hand firmly and pulls me through the crowd towards a waiting carriage. With a strong shove, he puts me into the carriage. My balance falters, but from inside the carriage I am caught by the strong arms of Antoine.

"Thank ye," I mutter breathlessly.

As Etienne closes the carriage door, our coachman slaps the reigns, causing the horses to lurch forward.

"What a relief to see the both of ye. I was sure I was going to be lost in the crowd."

"Then I would have no one to dance with at the feast!" Etienne exclaims.

The remainder of the carriage ride to the royal palace at Versailles is in easy camaraderie. We three easily joke and chatter. As the carriage hits large ruts in the road, Etienne holds me firmly by the waist so I do not jostle too much. As the carriage comes around a corner, the palace of Versailles rises before us. In the fading light of day, the palace and grounds are alight with innumerable candles and wreathed in innumerable flowers. My mouth drops open at the sight of the splendor.

"It is quite the sight," Antoine remarks after seeing my open mouth. "Try not to stare too much. After all, you are _supposed_ to be a lady's servant, not a common country rube."

I roll my eyes at Antoine. "I'll try not to embarrass ye too much."

We alight the carriage and join the crowd of people waiting to enter. I keep my cloak closed tight around my body, trying to protect the gown and trying to stay invisible. Etienne holds me firmly by the waist while we walk through the crowd. At the door, we are momentarily stopped by a Musketeer who does not instantly recognize us. After a few choice words from Antoine, we are admitted into the palace.

Servants bustle about, trying to finish the last minute preparations. I move to help them, but am stopped by a command from Lady D'Artagnan.

"Aria, you are a guest tonight, not a servant. In fact, you are hereby released from service."

I bob a curtsey. "That's kind of ye, however, only Valentine can release me from her service. Tis the nature of the agreement. Let us leave that discussion for after the wedding, when things are calmer."

A servant rushes in, breathless from running all around the expansive palace. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you could please take your places in the Hall of Mirrors, we can bring the guests in."

All of our outerwear is removed as we make final adjustments to our appearances. As a group, we are guided to the Hall of Mirrors to await the guests. The King and Queen, and Valentine and Gaston are already in place to receive the guests. We take our assigned positions and wait for the doors to open.


End file.
